Growing Up Holmes
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Another Honey 'Verse...finally! Yay! Okay so this one deals more with Mycroft and Molly's daughter and is told from her point of view as she grows up surrounded by our favorite Honey 'Verse characters. Let me know what you think.
1. An Introduction to Bea

**Growing up Holmes**

**Prologue: An Introduction to Beatrice**

So you want to know what my childhood was like? What it was like to grow up as the daughter of a doctor and a politician? I shouldn't think it was all that different than how other children grow up. Then again growing up a Holmes is infinitely different from anything else. Maybe I should explain a few things about myself first. That might help you to understand a little better.

First off I should tell you that I hate my name. Beatrice. Ugh. It's awful. It sounds like an old spinster lady with about a million cats. I hate cats. Nasty little creatures they are, so smug all the time. Anyway, so I hate my name. Just call me Bea. It's pronounced Bay, by the way, not Bee, don't ever call me Bee, I hate that nearly as much as my full name. I like my nickname, Bay. It suits me. No I have no idea which of the adults around me gave me that nickname and I couldn't care less. It's just been what they've always called me. I don't remember anyone ever calling me anything else…unless I'm in trouble of course.

Second, I'm an only child…well, to be truthful only sort of an only child. I mean my parents only had me but well…my cousins spent as much time growing up with us as they do with their dads or their moms…depending on which cousins I'm talking about. Of course, I spent as much time with my uncles or my aunts as I do with my mom and dad. Though to be truthful my two actual cousins are closer to me than the rest and we're nearly inseparable. So the three of us may as well be siblings. The 'rents lump us together anyway. Sometimes I wonder if we're one of Uncle Shock's experiments. You know, some kind of social experiment to gauge the effects of parental involvement in child development or something. You know very well it's something he would do if he could.

Then there's my other quasi cousin who likes to hang out with us when his moms are having…well, I'm sure you know what I mean. Archie's a bit shy and more embarrassed by his mom's behavior than he should be. Not that their behavior is bad or anything because it's not. Just one of his mom's is a government agent that is my dad's bodyguard and the other…well, she used to be a…fallen woman? Yes, I'm trying to be delicate. Not exactly a Holmesian trait, I know, but I can try. And then there are all the Brody and Lestrade and Fallon cousins. They're Mr. Greg's grandkids and Sgt. Sally's kids. So there have always been a lot of kids around for me to play with. And they all grew up just like I did. Mostly anyway.

Third thing that you should know is; I am off the charts smart. I am not being arrogant. It's the truth. Uncle Shock says I'm smarter even than he is, which is enough to terrify just about anyone. It's a burden as much as a gift. I know myself and I know I have the Holmes gene that makes me…well, arrogant and uncaring at times. I really don't much care about anyone except my family. I've had some friends that have come close but…no, actually I haven't. Uncle John tells me not to worry about it and I don't. If I get lonely then I have my cousins. They're enough for me. Mom and Uncle John always snicker a bit when I say that but I don't know why. Uncle Shock and Father merely roll their eyes and glare at their spouses. Grown-ups are weird.

Fourth, well…I'm not sure really. Most of the things you need to know about me you'll learn for yourself as you read through my experiences. It is inevitable. You may also learn more about those close to me…if you're not idiots like I think you are. Then again…I find this a complete waste of my valuable time. Having to write this journal is an overreaction to a trivial matter but as I am still a minor the adults refuse to listen to me.

Right. So you're wondering why I'm writing this, aren't you? Well it's simple really. I was kidnapped…again. Only this time I was kidnapped from my school and so they can require me to get counseling. Which is stupid, utterly and completely unnecessary. My kidnapping didn't upset me. Being kidnapped has never bothered me…except for once. But my therapist won't release me from this purgatory until she can believe that I am over the shock and terror that other people would have in that situation. I am not other people though and this purgatory is far more upsetting than the kidnapping itself was. I don't need therapy and I am not traumatized.

Honestly! I'm seventeen years old and I've been kidnapped fifteen times that I can remember. The first time I was kidnapped was the only one that terrified me. It was the only time I was even remotely frightened during a kidnapping. I was five and Jim Moriarty took me from the street in front of my preschool. Right under my bodyguard and nanny's noses. Uncle Sherlock, Uncle John and Mr. Greg saved me though. In less than ten hours too. I've been kidnapped by armed gunmen who wanted something from Daddy, by drugged out thugs trying to get to Mr. Greg, disgruntled clients of Uncle Sherlock's to show him how they felt, art thieves trying to ransom me for Mr. Ian's paintings, all kinds of people and for all kinds of reasons. It's merely annoying now. Besides usually one of my cousins is kidnapped with me and that just makes it all the easier to escape. We're all fairly smart and crafty and have a touch of…evil, I guess.

Of course I can't tell my school that. Those instances are all classified. So they think this is the first time, well, the second as that first kidnapping when I was five was publicized. However, even if it hadn't been, even if I wasn't who I was and my family wasn't who they were this kidnapping wouldn't have even rated a two on the scare meter. Honestly! An eighteen year old boy, stressed by suddenly being second in class and being beaten by a girl at that? Not even worth the twenty minutes it took me to get myself free of him. Yes, Colin and the other cousins coming was very nice but it wasn't needed and Colin knows that even if the others refuse to believe it. He finds it hilarious that he isn't needed as my knight in shining armor because my own armor is good enough. Sometimes he's so much like Uncle John.

Anyway, my therapist gave me the assignment of writing what I feel about what happened. She's only forced this inane exercise on me because I refuse to talk to her. I know very well how she will twist everything I say and so I agreed to write it down. At least that way if she tries to twist it I have the proof of what I've written in black and white. Honestly, she's a nightmare! She wears a tweed suit! I am not kidding. And it's a terribly tailored one as well. And her glasses, which she doesn't actually need and only wears to make her look more professional, are from the 50s. They have to be. No one would still make those horned-rimmed, fake diamond encrusted monstrosities anymore.

Sorry, went a bit off on a tangent. I do that. It comes from having a family that can follow your train of thought with the speed of light or more in some cases. Exposure to a Holmes brings about an upgrade in intelligent thought. Just ask Sgt. Sally…though she's not a Sargent anymore. Still that's what we all call her. Even her kids and husband sometimes. Mr. Ian loves to tease her with it. And for the most part she just smiles and shakes her head. She hasn't been a Sargent for years but she still likes the name. But only for family. I've heard one of the bobbies call her that and she smacked him down hard for it. Course, that particular constable was a jerk anyway so…

And there I go again. Focus, Bea. At least Uncle Shock isn't reading this. He'd go spare at all the unnecessary data in it. And then he'd promptly delete it all from his memory.

Right. So I'm writing this stupid assignment. Even though I am not traumatized and I'm perfectly capable of speaking about my kidnapping, just not with her. I've told my father every detail and Colin and Mr. Greg and Sgt. Sally. Personally I think that's more than enough people that know, don't you? But keep a journal the badly dressed idiot tells me. Not a problem. But it won't be what she expects. Most likely she won't believe ninety percent of the experiences I've had but that doesn't bother me. She'll call in my parents who will listen politely as she tells them I'm traumatized and lashing out with lies to compensate. They'll nod in all the right places until she's finished and then Daddy will stand up and tap his brolly on the floor with a frown working its way across his forehead and lips. Mum will smoothly stand up next to him with her eyes snapping her ire and her face completely bland. And then one of them will calmly and with an icy voice tell her that she has no idea what she's talking about. She doesn't know their daughter. Their Bea is not traumatized.

Then they'll gather up the brood of Holmes/Watson/Adler/Brody/Lestrade/Fallon children and take us all home where there will be a family meeting. Then we'll all go to a new school. It is inevitable. So I may as well give the she-beast enough to hang herself with. Maybe she'll say something so outrageous Daddy will lose his temper and yell. I've personally never seen it but Uncle John says it has happened and he'd know. I should record my next meeting with her. That would make even Mr. Greg yell at her. Note to self: record and play a meeting for the family. It should be amusing at least.

And in conclusion: Yes, Daddy, there are two copies of this. One of them is the highly edited version which is for the she-beast's consumption and then this one which is for family. Honestly, now that I'm thinking about it we should all make one of these journals and then compare notes. I love to hear about you and Uncle Shock and Uncle John as children and I'm sure the others would love any stories any of you so called adults would like to tell. Give it some thought. After you get the she-beast fired and ruin her financially of course. Because we all know that's where this assignment is headed to. She should never tangle with a Holmes.


	2. Colin

**Chapter One: Colin**

I have never kept a diary. As far as I know no one in my family has either. Not even Aunt Irene and she's crazy. Well, I say crazy…and maybe Uncle Shock, but his would be more on the lines of a scientific journal of his experiments…anyway, the point is that I'm not altogether sure what I'm actually supposed to write about. I know enough to know that a diary is supposed to be private but since I'm writing this for the express purpose of being read I don't think it's really a diary then. That fact would ensure that I wouldn't write anything at all personal, wouldn't it? Still…it's not like I have a choice about this.

Dr. Brandson wants to know about my childhood even though I'm still technically a child. I'm seventeen and in parts of the world that's considered an adult, though in others it's not. In my family? Uncle Shock is still considered a child. Strange that. So are Uncle Ian and Aunt Irene and those three are the crazy ones. Maybe there's something to that. Coleen and Ben and their spouses are still kids too even though they have kids of their own but Aunt Jo says that since she gave birth to Ben and Coleen she gets to think of them as children until the day she dies. My mother says the same about me. Still it seems only the crazy ones are truly considered children and I'm not one of the crazy ones…Colin is. And so are a few of the cousins.

Went off topic again. Stupid genetics. I'd apologize except that it wouldn't be sincere anyway. A Holmes only ever apologizes sincerely to family. Besides this journal, diary, whatever is supposed to be about me and I go off topic a lot, especially when I'm writing. Why do you think Colin proofreads all my assignments even though he is younger than me and not quite as smart?

Anyway, my childhood. It was splendid. Truly. Loved every minute of it. Honestly. Okay so maybe not every minute of it. Let me start at the beginning. That's usually a good place to start, right? That's what my father always tells me anyway. 'Never start in the middle of a story, Bea. You'll never understand the ending if you do that.'

To the beginning then…I was born. I don't remember that part though. I personally think that's a good thing though, don't you? I mean imagine if your very first memory is of being born. That's enough to traumatize a child for eternity. So I'll start this stupid journal, diary, whatever with my first actual memory. I know other stuff happened before that but I don't remember it so it doesn't matter, right? And it wasn't anything very important or the 'rents would have told me about it long before now…I think there was a trip to Antarctica in there or maybe it was Australia…somewhere starting with an A anyway.

My very first clear memory is of Colin. I knew other things of course and back then I'm sure I had other memories. I knew who my mother was and my father too, imagine that. I knew Uncle John and Uncle Shock and the rest of the family but this is the first clear memory I have of my own and not something I've been told by the…we'll call them all the adults for ease of reference.

I was three years and one month old. Colin was one year and two months old. Mummy had told me that Uncle John and Uncle Shock were coming by to introduce me to someone important. I'm not sure who I thought they were bringing now. I only remember that I was very excited because they had been gone for a long time. It was actually only two weeks but that's forever to a three year old.

They finally arrived and I raced out to greet them and came to an abrupt stop in the entry hall. There was a little boy clinging to my Uncle Shock. At first I was vastly irritated. Until this moment I had been the only child to be that welcomed by Uncle Shock. Sure the few cousins I had at the time adored him but he always seemed faintly uncomfortable with them. Yet, here was this little boy that I had never even met and he was being carried by my Uncle Shock.

Then he looked down at me from Uncle Shock's arms with Uncle John's eyes. And that was it. I fell in love with him before I knew his name or why he was with my beloved uncles. I didn't know who this little boy was but I knew he was mine. And I knew that Uncle Shock and Uncle John had brought him here just for me.

Even though I tried to evade her, I've already told you I don't like to be touched, haven't I? That's one of the reasons you're making me write this journal. There's no traumatic reason why it's something that just is. Just like Uncle Shock doesn't like to be touched except by me, Colin, Darby and of course, Uncle John. And yes even back then that was the case, I have been this way from infancy and so had Uncle Shock though it wasn't as noticeable with him as he'd had Uncle John for his whole life.

Back to the point though, Mummy took my hand, in spite of my squirming, and led me over to stand by Uncle Sherlock. "Bea, this is Colin," she told me gently and then watched my face. Her eyes were so very sad and worried. I didn't know why she would be sad. Didn't she see that my Uncles had known just what I needed and acquired it for me?

I only found out later that it was because Uncle John's sister had died and left poor Colin an orphan. Though Colin has never wanted pity for that. He says it gave him the coolest dads in the entire world. I'd have to agree with him. I adore Daddy but…Uncle John and Uncle Shock are so much cooler.

No one knows who Colin's biological dad is or was. Uncle John's sister, Harry, certainly wasn't telling even when she was alive. We still don't know and we don't care. I'm sure Daddy could have found out easily enough and I'm fairly sure Uncle Shock could figure it out if either of them cared to try but they don't and none of us has ever asked them to do so. Colin has family and that's all he needs. I did say Colin was mine, didn't I? I'll take care of him, same as I always have, and he doesn't need some sperm donor to give his life meaning. We know who he is and he knows who he is. He is Uncle John and Uncle Shock's son. He is my…Colin. What's more…he knows that too. He's never been in the least interested about that part of his past.

Right, off track again. Personally I think this stuff is important but I'm sure you disagree, Dr. Brandson. So, back to the memory.

I tilted my head to the side and stared up at the boy for a moment longer. I had always loved Uncle John's eyes. They told the entire story of his life if you knew how to look. And I knew how to look, even at three. Colin's eyes are exactly the same shade as Uncle John's. His story is written in his eyes too. They're quite a lot alike actually. Even Uncle Shock thinks so. It's why when pressed he admits that while he loves both of his children he is closer to Colin and Darby is closer to Uncle John. Darby is very much a Holmes, for all that she is adopted. "Mine?" I finally asked them all. I knew Uncle John would know what I meant. He's good at that. Must be all that exposure to Uncle Shock and Daddy. "He's for me, right?"

"Bea," my mother began with a note of exasperation in her voice but Uncle John cut her off with a shake of his head and a look that said more than words could and knelt in front of me. I know she was going to tell me that a person cannot be owned. I know that, you know. Doesn't stop Colin from being mine though. Uncle John understood that in a way that I don't think Mum did or does even now. She loves Daddy with everything she has and he feels the same for her but even they will admit that they don't have the same level of togetherness that Uncle John and Uncle Shock have. And that Colin and I have.

Uncle John's eyes had seemed sad that day. As though something bad had happened and he was only just realizing it. I now know that was exactly what was happening. But his hand on my shoulder was firm and warm, same as it always was. I didn't flinch away from Uncle John. Not that time. I usually did. Like I said, I don't like people touching me except for Colin of course. "Yes, Bea. Colin is for you. You need to be there for him and care for him and be his best friend." His voice was too rough and heartbroken. I didn't like him sounding like that. It was inherently wrong for Uncle John to sound like that. He's supposed to be cheerful or calm or spittingly angry at Uncle Shock. Those are Uncle John's three main emotions…or so I thought at the time. I was far too young to understand that sometimes all three of those were covers for horny. Still sad doesn't look right on Uncle John and I don't think it ever will.

Blast! Went off topic again. I'd have Colin read over this and fix it but...you want the unvarnished me and this is it. You'll just have to deal with the tangents. Besides, Colin likes them and even though Uncle Shock will huff and puff when he gets a look at this he'll enjoy it too. I'm not stupid. I know very well that you are going to call a meeting with my family. You will read the first few pages and then insist that you meet with the family to go over it all and point out all the things that make you think I need therapy. It won't work but it'll be enjoyable to watch nonetheless. Back on point.

I nodded seriously at Uncle John and looked up at the small boy again. "Like you and Uncle Shock," I observed solemnly. "I have to protect him and love him forever. I can do that. He's mine." It was simple to me. It was only fair that I have my own best friend, like Uncle John had Uncle Shock. They'd been together forever and I wanted that too. "Thank you," I told them courteously as Mummy had taught me, though I only ever made the effort for family...hmm, that's still true. "Come on, Colin. I'll show you my star maker. Daddy got it for me." I held up a hand my best friend imperiously, expecting him to come to me immediately.

Colin took his thumb out of his mouth and looked down at me, his hazel eyes suddenly lit with interest. "'Tars? Colin see 'tars?" He asked in his baby voice. I nodded happily, he wasn't nearly as obnoxious as Keegan, Sgt. Sally and Uncle Kill's son. Keegan is a year older than Colin and Colin was already speaking better than him. But then Keegan's daddy is an artist and taught Keegan how to draw before he could actually hold a pen so...we all have our strengths. "But…is day," he pointed towards the window. "No 'tars at day."

I smiled that wide, happy Holmes smile, the one only family ever actually sees. Colin was a beautifully smart baby. Perfect for my best friend. "I'll show you," I insisted. "It's a machine that makes stars on the ceiling. Just like the universe." I wasn't sure he knew what that was…then again I'm not sure I knew what that was at the time…but I wanted to share it with him anyway.

Those hazel eyes widened and he squirmed in Uncle Shock's hold with one hand reaching out to mine. "Weally?" He asked breathlessly. "Colin wanna see. Peas?" He turned those eyes on Uncle Shock. Colin really does have Uncle John's eyes because Uncle Shock folded at the first glance and set Colin on his feet beside me with his lips tilted in a smile that held smugness, sorrow and satisfaction all at once. He and Uncle John had known at once exactly what was going to happen when they brought Colin to me and he had been pleased to be proven right even though Uncle John's sister had to die for it to happen.

Colin grabbed my hand then and I froze. As I have told you before, normally I didn't like people touching me, even people I knew well. Just like Uncle Shock, he doesn't like for people to touch him either. There is no trauma associated with it, for either of us. I just don't like being touched. But then I thought about Uncle John. No matter what mood Uncle Shock is in Uncle John can touch him and not be rejected. To my knowledge Uncle Shock has never shaken Uncle John away. So that meant that it was okay for Colin to hold my hand, I decided. It was okay for Colin to hug me and kiss my cheek and stuff too. But only Colin. Always, only Colin. So I squeezed his little fingers and pulled him towards my lab without another thought to how strange it would seems to the 'rents. Though I'm sure Daddy understood far better than Mummy. Daddy had been dealing with SherlocknJohn for years and knew far more about them than I'm sure they're comfortable with.

On a side note: I have reiterated numerous times that I do not like to be touched and yet you continue to do so. Please stop taking my elbow to lead me into your office or clasping my shoulder while we're talking or patting my arm. I do not like to be touched and you know this and yet you continue to force yourself into my personal space. I know you think that I need to become comfortable with other people touching me but I see no need to even try to go against what I feel. Uncle Shock gets by just fine without allowing anyone to touch him that he doesn't want. I am perfectly aware that others may brush me in a crowd but that is completely different from having to put up with people invading my bubble and forcing their presence where it is not wanted.

Yes, I am ranting at you, Dr. Brandson. No, I will not apologize. I have just finished a session with you and I found it to be vastly boring and unhelpful. I thought therapy was supposed to be about me talking about my nonexistent problems but you spent the entire session scolding me for not making an effort on this stupid journal. Well, now I've made the effort and I can't wait to see your face when I turn it in next week. I doubt you'll even read this far before you call a meeting with my family. Good luck with that.

Anyway back on the topic as I only have a little bit left to say on the subject of this entry. Which is my first childhood memory.

So, that is my very first clear memory of life. It seems vastly appropriate to me that it is of my Colin. My dear sweet Colin. He's an idiot but he's my idiot so it's fine. Just like Uncle Shock says. Even though other cousins have come along and I love them all Colin is mine. Uncle John said so and Uncle John never lies.


	3. Inconsistencies

**Chapter Two: Inconsistencies**

Molly Holmes nee Hooper startled violently as the phone in her pocket sang out an unfamiliar ringtone. "Damn and Blast," she muttered under her breath as she narrowly avoided slitting Mr. Pillian though the liver. "Shut up," she told her pocket.

Her assistant snickered lightly and came to stand at her side. "Want me to answer it for you, Dr. Holmes?" She asked with a grin.

"Would you?" Molly asked in relief. "I'm rather up to my elbows in Mr. Pillian's innards at the moment." She half lifted one arm so that Stacy could get at her phone and then turned her attention back to Mr. Pillian.

She tuned out the conversation behind her in favor of the medical mystery that was before her. Mr. Pillian had died quite unexpectedly two weeks after breaking his foot on the ski slopes of Switzerland. It was quite strange as according to his medical reports from both the time of the accident and his own GP once he'd come home had noted that it was a relatively minor injury and should cause him no trouble once it healed.

And yet…two weeks later Mr. Pillian was found dead in his bed. There were of course a million reasons that could have absolutely nothing to do with the broken foot but his family was adamant that it was the doctors in Switzerland that had done something wrong and had caused his death. So here Molly was, on a sunny Saturday morning, her usual morning off, digging though the guts of a nineteen year old boy and wishing she could have gone to shopping with Bea and the other girls while Myc took the boys to the Club or the races or some other manly pursuit.

A sudden thought hit her and she blinked down at the bloody mess on her table. "Stacy," she called to her assistant who seemed to have drifted off with the phone. "Stacy! Bring me Mr. Pillian's x-rays!"

Stacy appeared at the other end of the room with a frown and the phone still to her ear. "Yes ma'am, I realize that but—" She stopped speaking abruptly and rolled her eyes. She stalked over to the wall and pulled Pillian's medical file before she returned to Molly's side with the x-ray in hand. "Look, ma'am, Dr. Holmes—"

"Oh for Heaven's Sake," Molly said in exasperation when her assistant was once again obviously interrupted. "Just put it on the bloody speaker phone, Stacy. I'm covered in blood and effluvia but I'll talk to whoever it is." She shook her head at herself. Being around the Holmes brothers for nearly twenty years had obviously had a detrimental effect on her patience. Oh, well, she shrugged in her head. She was pleased to take the downswing in socially acceptable behavior as it meant she was one of the very few people that could claim a close relationship with the rather large extended family of Holmes.

"Mrs. Holmes?" The tinny voice asked in an uncertain tone over the phone. "Am I speaking with Mrs. Margaret Holmes?"

Molly scowled at the phone her assistant was holding up for her, never realizing how much she looked like her brother-in-law. "No," she said shortly, stripped off one of her gloves and held up the original x-ray of Mr. Pillian's broken foot. "I am Dr. Molly Holmes." She emphasized the title as she'd worked bloody hard for years to earn it.

"I'm so sorry," the woman's voice became sugary sweet. "I must have the wrong number. I'm looking for a Mrs. Margaret Holmes with a daughter named Beatrice."

Molly frowned at the x-ray and only gave half her attention to the woman on the phone. "You have the correct number," she told the woman. "Hand me that other x-ray, Stace." She held her hand out for it. "What do you want?" She knew she was being overly curt with the woman but she was busy.

"No, I must have the wrong number," the woman insisted. "I'm not altogether surprised. That secretary of mine is nearly useless."

Molly rolled her eyes and traced a finger over the dip in the bone on the x-ray. Was that…hmmm? "Fine," she said. "Whatever. Look, I am very busy trying to solve an unexplained death at the moment so either tell me what you wanted from me or get off the blasted phone so that I can get back to autopsying this poor man." She handed the x-ray to Stacy. "If my suspicions are correct, I may have to open his heart," she told Stacy. "Let's get him covered up and try the imaging machine first. I don't want to damage the body if I don't have to."

"Of course, Dr. Holmes," Stacy said with a triumphant grin to the phone, she set it on the edge of the table and scurried off to get the imaging machine from the storage room where they kept it under lock and key. Those idiots from radiology were constantly trying to take it. They kept saying that it was really theirs and that the morgue needed to fill out seven different forms in triplicate to even use it for fifteen minutes. Molly said it was because they were jealous. It was the best imaging machine money could buy and her husband had bought it specifically for the morgue as a birthday present for Molly. Stacy was inclined to believe that story.

"Dr. Holmes?" The voice was again hesitant and slightly shocked. "Pardon me? Are you still there?"

Molly frowned at the phone for a moment and then recognition lit her eyes. "Oh. Yes, I'm here and I can totally understand why my daughter, Bea, is always so very agitated after her sessions with you." She frowned fiercely. "I really don't have time to chat with you right now, Mrs. Brandstone." She knew that wasn't the woman's name but…well, she was irritating. Bea was right, again. Blast. "It's my day off and I normally spend it with the children but I have to solve this case." She stripped off her other glove and punched down on the end call button. "Bloody idiot of a woman," she sighed and picked up her phone.

"Want me to put that in the office so she doesn't bother us again?" Stacy asked as she trundled the machine to the side of the table.

Molly happily passed her the small cell phone and turned to the machine. She stopped abruptly. "What's my voicemail message?" She asked.

Stacy, well knowing how often Bea or one of the others stole phones simply to change ringtones and voicemail messages, shrugged. "I'll check it for you," she volunteered.

"Thank you, dear," Molly murmured already turning on the machine. She wasn't too worried at what the monsters had made her message. After she'd stopped reacting to their games they'd toned them down a lot. She and John had tried numerous times to explain this to the rest of the adults but they all still yelled and threatened dire punishments that never seemed to happen. She and John just gave the children level looks and then went on about life. In comparison the messages on her and John's phones were mild and amusing rather than shocking and rude.

Stacy came back to her side with her eyes shining in mirth and a giggle on her lips. "They're…creative," she commented.

Molly glanced at her expression and nearly groaned aloud. "What did the monsters do this time?" She asked.

Stacy's lips twitched again and she took a deep breath. "You've reached Dr. Molly's phone. She's up to her shoulders in dead bodies at the moment and can't come to the phone. If you'd like to leave a message about the stuff she can cure…cuz she's a doctor and all please press one. If you'd like her to collect your dead body, press two. For all other messages leave a number and she'll get back to you…as soon as she finishes saving the world from the zombie apocalypse. Seriously." Stacy could barely get the words out before she started laughing. "It was one of the boys and I could hear one of the girls reminding him of what words to say in the background."

"Joel and Hayley," Molly grinned. "They're the zombie enthusiasts. Franny and Penny took all the kids to see _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ last week and those two have been even worse since then. Do you know they both have complete zombie apocalypse survival packs for each of us hidden in their basement?"

Stacy grinned knowingly and shook her head. The antics of the extended Holmes Clan were always amusing to hear about. Though she didn't think she'd like to be any closer than the periphery of the circle. It sounded like a chaotic existence with way too many clashing personalities to endure. She liked her quiet life. Besides if she was only on the outside edge the stories could be amusing instead of terrifying.

Molly turned back to her machine and read the readout with a sigh. "I'm going to have to open him up," she motioned Stacy over and pointed to the dark spot in Mr. Pillian's heart. "There is our problem and we have to remove it and figure out what it is and how it got there."

**GROWING UP HOLMES GROWING UP HOLMES**

Abequa truly wished that just this once she was actually doing what her name meant. She did not want to be in dusty, smelly, hot Nguigmi, Niger, Africa on a Saturday. But…well, the unrest caused by the tensions around the fact of the shrinking Lake Chad had needed Myc's personal touch and she was as ever his faithful bodyguard. So instead of playing with the girls as she normally did on Saturdays she was guarding Myc's back so that they could hang out with the others tomorrow.

She gave a frown as an unfamiliar number buzzed up on her BlackBerry. No one had this actual number aside from family and then she noticed that it was a call forwarded from Myc's office phone. Strange.

She clicked on the icon to answer and put the phone to her ear. She much preferred texting, like Sherlock, but she needed to know who would be calling Myc on a Saturday morning that wasn't family. "Mycroft Holmes' office, how may I help you?" She asked in her sweet, dumb secretary voice. It didn't matter that Myc's real secretary was anything but dumb and not sweet either. She could easily play the part and that was all that mattered.

"May I speak with Mr. Holmes please," the female voice on the other end entreated. "It's really very important."

Abequa frowned again. "I'm afraid Mr. Holmes is in a meeting at the moment," she responded truthfully. Myc was over in the shade of one of the buildings discussing something with a group of farmers and a water conservationist.

"Drat," the woman cursed. "I really must speak with him at the earliest convenience. Please remove him from the meeting and bring him to the phone."

Abequa frowned even more fiercely. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, ma'am. If you'd like to leave a message I'll get it to him as soon as he's finished."

She heard a heavy sigh on the other end. "Why is everyone so very obstructive? This is about his daughter, Beatrice and no one I've called seems to care."

Abequa felt a frisson of fear tingle over her skin. "What's wrong with Bea?" She asked alarm creeping into her tone. "Is she injured? And what do you mean no one you've called seems to care? Who did you call?"

The woman sighed again. "I am Dr. Emma Brandson. I'm Beatrice's therapist." Abequa immediately relaxed. "Beatrice is not injured that I know of. I tried to get in touch with her mother but I seem to have the wrong contact information. I reached a Dr. Molly Holmes and not Mrs. Margaret Holmes. Her assistant was very unhelpful."

"I'm not surprised," Abequa murmured. If she'd started that call anything like she'd started this one then Stacy would have blocked her for as long as she could. "I'll let Mr. Holmes know that you called regarding Bea at my earliest opportunity. I'm sure he'll phone you back by Monday afternoon."

The woman let out a sound that was suspiciously like a growl. "Monday is not good enough. I have to speak to him immediately."

Abequa turned so that she could catch Myc's eye and gave him an inquiring look. He nodded and excused himself from the group that carried on conversing in a much less agitated manner than they had been when she and Myc had first arrived. "I'm afraid that is just impossible, Dr. Branson," she let her lips twitch at the small revenge of the mistaken name. "Mr. Holmes is a very busy and important man. He has no time to speak with you right now."

"It's Brandson," the woman snapped. "And you will get him or I will inform him that you are hindering his daughter's recovery from the recent traumatic incident she experienced."

Myc took the phone from her hands at her irate look and lifted it to his own ear. "I do not appreciate threats to my staff, Dr. Brandson," he purred. "Now what seems to be the problem?" Myc had this way to make even the most bland of his tones seem dangerous.

Abequa could no longer hear the woman's side of the conversation but she could tell from the expressions flitting across Myc's face that she was being just as offensive and ignorant as Bea had claimed. "Yes, I know of the journal," Myc said lowly. "I see no sense in the project but Bea seems to be enjoying it." He paused again and Abequa could hear the woman's voice raise even if she still couldn't quite make out the words. "No, Bea has never been one to lie or exaggerate." The frown on his face became thunderous. "Very well. You say there are inconsistences then I will look into it." She cut him off and his eyes snapped fire. "Very well, the whole family?" That was a first. Normally teachers and other people connected to the various children requested meetings with only the parents. "We will be there on Tuesday. Yes, Mrs. Brandson, I'll make sure we all attend." His expression grew colder than Abequa thought she'd ever seen it. "Good day." He pulled the phone from his ear and stabbed viciously at the disconnect button. "Meddling, interfering, nosy bit—"

"Myc!" Abequa exclaimed with an anxious look to the group of farmers. "Remember where you are."

Myc took the scolding with the good grace of over twenty years of companionship. "You're right, Abequa," he nodded. "Inform the family to gather at Dr. Brandson's office at four o'clock Tuesday afternoon."

Abequa's eyes widened. "The entire family?" She nearly squeaked. "Everyone?"

Myc smirked and nodded again. "Everyone. Babies and all. She wants to meet with the family then she'll meet with the family. All of the family."

Abequa smirked. "Very well, sir. I'll get on that." She turned from him again as he strode back over to the group and began making the necessary calls to gather the family on Tuesday.


	4. A Holmesian Tradition

**Chapter Three: A Holmesian Tradition**

The second thing on the list you gave me to write about was our family traditions. I'm sure you're expecting some kind of Christmas thing where I write about how we find our tree and when we decorate it. Or maybe birthday cake and parties. Or Easter church services. Or whatever. Right?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Pssh, you're an idiot. Sure we do those things…sort of but so do most other families. They're not really a family tradition if it's something everyone else does as well are they? And you wanted to know about our _family_ traditions. You're going to be shocked, I'm sure but I'm about to give you some of what you want. I'm sure there are traditions that my family has that I never actually think about because they simply are. Probably something as simple as the coffee shop we all go to through the week. Yes, we all use the same one and no we don't all go at once but I'm fairly sure we all show up at this coffee shop at least once a week. It's tradition.

Hmmm…which tradition first…Ah! The first day of spring. That's one of my favorites. I'm sure you won't understand exactly why this one day is so very important as you don't know my Uncle Shock…truthfully I don't think anyone really knows Uncle Shock, including himself, except for Uncle John. However since I don't think you've even met him you will probably find this incomprehensible and weird. I don't really care whether you understand or not. It's a tradition in my family and that's the important part.

Anyway, I'm not sure when this tradition actually started. We've been doing it for as long as I remember. I think it started way back when Uncle Shock, Uncle John and Daddy were children. From what the 'rents have said Uncle John's Mum, Aunt Cece started it. It's just carried on to the next generation and we'll probably continue it with our own children. Hmm, Uncle Ben and Aunt Colleen already do so…yeah.

Every year on the first day of spring Uncle Shock and Uncle John round up all the children. This is the one day of the year where Uncle Shock and Uncle John are the only adults…well, I say adults…that have charge of the children. They're the only ones allowed to go with us for this activity. It's their tradition and their gift to us and the 'rents. Sure they're part of our other activities but this day it is only them and us kids. I'm not sure why but it doesn't matter. It is simply the way we do this.

So they get us all together, from the newborns all the way up to me and I am nominally the oldest. Sure, Darby is three days older than me but I've been a Holmes longer than she has. And yes I do mean newborns. Trish was five days old the first time her mother, Aunt Colleen, let Uncle John and Uncle Shock take her. Dammit! Off on a tangent again.

Anyway! They get us all together and they rent a bus that Uncle John insists on driving because Uncle Shock is a maniac. Not that Uncle John is much better, really. And we do need a bus as there are so many of us now. When I was little we only needed a van.

So they load us all up in the bus they've rented and drive us out of the city and into the country near Holmes manor. Yes, we have our own manor…though it's actually Daddy and Uncle Shock's equally. I guess that means it'll be passed down to me, Colin and Darby. Yes, I know inheritance laws probably better than you do but Daddy is the government…er, a minor official in the government. The point is that he can do what he wants and he'll make sure all of us are taken care of.

Yes, I know I'm rambling and avoiding the point of this exercise. It's simply that this tradition is something that is important and I just know you'll mock it in that way you have that you say isn't mocking but it really is. You'll say something about how it's an abnormal activity for a family to have and you'll go on and on about how we need to spend more quality time doing something else that isn't this. And it'll make me angry and that'll make Colin angry which will in turn make Uncle John angry and then Uncle Shock and so on until the entire family is furious with you…actually that's not a bad idea. Maybe everybody glaring at you will make you stop annoying me with your awful advice.

The first day of spring. Right. So we all head out to the countryside. We're always a bit loud and rowdy when we go on this trip. Mostly because we know what's going to happen and all of us enjoy this activity…probably more than we would if it was anyone else taking us. Uncle John and Uncle Shock always make the trip so much fun. We tell jokes on the ride and play car games. My personal favorite is 'Name the Compounds'. No you don't need to know what that actually means but if you ever really try to get to know my Uncle Shock you'll figure it out. Colin's favorite is 'Spot the Ambush Spot'. You can guess what that one is. Darby likes 'How to Annoy your Seatmate with Useless Trivia'. She's really strange sometimes. Though that is a fun game…unless you sit next to Colin who knows nearly as many useless facts as I do. And I nearly always sit next to Colin.

By the time we finally get to our destination we're all ready for a breather from each other…no matter how much fun we've been having. It always feels so fantastic to exit the bus and breathe in the air that isn't as polluted as the city. To see the green fields and the budding flowers. And then Mrs. Bucket comes to meet us with her happy eyes and ready smile.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket own a bee farm. It's been handed down from generation to generation for centuries. It is to this farm that we go every spring. Most people wait until later in the summer when they can buy fresh honey. Truthfully most of us go more than just on the first day of spring and gather our own honey but this is the only time it's just Uncle John, Uncle Shock and us.

We don't gather any honey on the first day of spring. There isn't much to be had quite yet usually. The honey isn't the point of the trip anyway. The point of this trip is to spend time together and do something we all enjoy. Mrs. Bucket gives us free run of the farm…as long as we've been before and can remember the rules, otherwise she takes Uncle John and the newer kids and the ones that are too young to remember the rules and gives them a tour.

The rest of us scatter around the farm and simply watch the bees as they fly around sleepily after their winter's nap. Uncle Shock wanders around and keeps an eye on all of us in that scary way he has. We still can't figure out how he knows where all of us are so quickly. He says it's simple deduction but Colin, Darby and I all think he's got some kind of GPS implanted in us. It's entirely possible knowing him and Daddy.

Uncle Shock rounds us all up about three for a snack at Mrs. Bucket's kitchen. We're the only ones allowed into the actual house. Any other visitors have to use the café at the edge of the grounds. Sure Mrs. Bucket cooks most of the goodies they carry but it's just not the same.

Mrs. Bucket always has a table overflowing with baked goods for us. She also makes the best apple honey juice on the planet. Darby prefers the berry honey juice but that could be because she's violently allergic to apples. Colin agrees with me and that's all I really care about.

When we've finished our snacks Mrs. Bucket waves us off back to our bus. Uncle John drives down the road a bit and we all go to Holmes manor for the evening. Any of the 'rents that are available are waiting for us there. By the time we arrive most of the little ones are sound asleep and we have to help unload them all and put them to bed for a nap. After that little chore is finished we usually split up again and follow our own pursuits until the bell rings for dinner.

Dinnertime is filled with stories of what we'd all done that day. Who got stung for irritating the bees and who found a new hive and so on. The 'rents listen avidly and nod in all the right places. Then we all watch a movie or read a book or play a game or whatever we decided on. Sometimes we do all three at the same time. Then we go to bed and the next morning we all head back to London in either the bus or with our respective parents. Colin, Darby and I always ride back in the bus even if my parents come to the house. Mum, when she's available usually rides with us too. Daddy takes a few of the younger ones in his car when he comes. He likes to give them a taste of luxury. Me? I prefer the bus even though Daddy's car has a telly.

So that's one of our traditions. I don't care if you mock it or find it strange or unhealthy. I like it and that's really all that matters. It's something that reminds me that I'm part of a family. We might not all be related by blood but we've chosen each other as family and that's the important part.


	5. Preparations

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh. Still.**

**A/N: I have returned. Yay! Let me know what you think.**

Chapter Four: Preparation

Dr. Emma Brandson surveyed the papers before her. She had so many questions and very few answers available to her. This case and this patient were worrying her immensely. The poor girl had obviously been severely traumatized by the incident at her school. But even that explanation didn't cover everything about the poor child. There was something in her past that had caused her to be so…wounded.

She hated touch and cringed away every time Emma attempted to comfort her. Beatrice insisted that there was no trauma associated with the action but Emma couldn't bring herself to believe that. No one, aside from those with abnormal brains, was born with an aversion to touch. She knew that Beatrice didn't have any of those genetic mental illnesses that led to such abnormalities. The child wasn't autistic or a germaphobe so her aversion to touch could only be explained by abuse.

She so wanted to help the girl but she blocked every single one of Emma's suggestions for healing. There was more than just the normal teenage belief in their own immortality behind that refusal. The child was defiant and obstructive to the point of sullenness.

"I'm heading out, Dr. Brandson," Sally's voice interrupted her musings and she looked up at the strawberry blonde after a moment with a blink. "I'll see you on Monday."

Emma nodded shortly. "Very well, Sally," she said. "Be sure to push back any appointments I have for Tuesday afternoon. I want to be completely prepared for the meeting with Beatrice's family."

"Of course, Dr. Brandson," Sally returned and mentally rolled her eyes at the woman. She'd already done so. "Would you like me to clear out the conference room for the meeting?"

Emma stared at her in shock and blinked again. "Whyever would I want you to do that, Sally?" She asked in a harsh tone. "Beatrice is an only child. I do believe that three people and myself can fit in my office for the meeting."

Sally frowned. "But…" she paused. "I thought you specified that the entire family attend," she reminded.

Emma glared at her. "I did," she bit out. "That's Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and Beatrice. The entire family unit consists of three people, Sally." She rolled her eyes and huffed. "What? Do you expect them to pull some fictional siblings from the woodwork?"

Sally grimaced. Dr. Brandson never thought about such things. "Bea has more family than just her parents, Dr. Brandson," she said carefully. "There are uncles and aunts and cousins. Her cousins Colin and Darby come with her every session and wait in the lobby with me."

"I don't care about extended family," Emma scoffed. "I didn't ask for them to attend and I very much doubt that the Holmes' will bring them. They wish to forget the incident at the school ever happened and they won't want it spread around that their daughter is in therapy. I know their type. More concerned with their own image than they are with the child's mental health."

Sally nodded and resolved to set up the conference room anyway. Dr. Brandson was in for a huge surprise in a few days. The extended Holmes' clan were extremely close to each other and for them family was all. "Of course, Dr. Brandson," she agreed.

Emma waved her secretary off impatiently. The girl was such a complete nuisance. She was always asking silly questions and butting her nose in where it didn't belong. Emma gave a thought, as she often did, to firing Sally but decided that it would be too much of a hassle to find another secretary. Sally would have to do for the time being.

She turned her attention back to the diary in front of her and sighed. She hadn't read much of it. Just a few paragraphs here and there. She'd given Beatrice the assignment to try and force the girl to actually think about her experience with Joshua and the kidnapping. She was fairly sure it hadn't worked. The list of possible writing prompts was only a suggestion and was designed to lead Beatrice to the kidnapping incident but Beatrice had faithfully followed each prompt instead of allowing her mind to open and really see the incident which had brought her to Emma's office.

Her first childhood memory had been a bit of a shock. The girl had ranted about writing the diary and then babbled on about her strange uncle and his partner. She may need to look into that situation. It couldn't be good for a young man to be brought up by men like that. She made a note on a piece of paper to chat with the Holmes' about young Colin on Tuesday.

She'd stopped reading thoroughly through the diary about halfway through the first entry and simply flipped through it. She was horrified at some of the things Beatrice had written and was determined to help the poor child see exactly how wrong her thinking was. She would save Beatrice from herself.

Emma closed the diary with a snap and sighed. She truly wanted to read it in depth but she just couldn't seem to do so without becoming so very sad and angry. What was the matter with Beatrice's parents? Couldn't they see how much damage they were doing to their daughter?

The entire diary was filled with references to other people and very few about Beatrice herself or her parents. It was almost as if Beatrice's parents were never around and so Beatrice had made up a family for herself. One that cared about her and listened to her and treated her like the treasure she was.

Now that she was thinking about it…she was suddenly confident that all of the people mentioned in Beatrice's diary were figments of her imagination. They simply had to be. There was no way any of those people could actually exist.

Of course she had heard of Sir Sherlock Holmes and his blogger John Watson but they couldn't possibly be Beatrice's uncles. She had probably latched onto the name and created a story around them. The same with the artist Killian Brody. The rest were all fictional. Beatrice needed a lot of help to return to reality.

Emma sighed heavily again and gathered up her notes and the diary. Poor Beatrice was in for a very long healing process. The poor child had lost all touch with reality and it was Emma's duty to bring her back from the realms of fantasy.

She only hoped that Beatrice's parents weren't as obstructive to the process as she feared they would be. If they proved too resistant to the therapy Beatrice so obviously needed then she'd have to give some serious thought to having Beatrice sent to a clinic for intensive therapy. It may be the only way to save the child.

She'd known more after Tuesday's meeting. She'd also be able to tell exactly which parent or if it was both of them that were abusive. She prayed it was only one of them. She didn't like to remove a child completely from family but she would do so if she must.


End file.
